Yeah, a pool on the balcony. Sounds amazing, doesn’t it? Like something out of a fancy magazine. I definitely had that dream float into my head one sweltering afternoon. Me, feet up, cool drink, king of my tiny outdoor castle.
But hold on a second. Before you go buying that jumbo inflatable, let me tell you what ran through my head when I seriously considered this. First off, weight. Water is ridiculously heavy, folks. I did some quick math – you know, volume, density, all that jazz I barely remembered from school. A modest-sized pool? We’re talking hundreds, maybe thousands of pounds. My balcony? I love it, but it’s not exactly Fort Knox. I started imagining the whole thing groaning, then a loud crack… Yeah, not a pretty picture. And forget about asking the landlord. You just know that conversation would be a dead end before it even started. “A what on the where? Absolutely not!”
Then there’s the whole water circus.
- Getting water in? Maybe a long hose snaking through the living room? Sounds like a recipe for a soaked carpet and a very unhappy spouse.
- And getting it out? You can’t just tip it over the side, can you? Hello, angry downstairs neighbors and probably a hefty fine. I imagined myself out there with a bucket, bailing it out one scoop at a time. No thanks.
I saw some folks online who supposedly pulled it off. Pictures looked great, sure. But I always wondered about the stuff you don’t see. The leaks, the arguments, the constant worry. Seemed like more stress than splash, if you ask me.
You might be thinking, “This guy sounds like he’s learned his lesson about grand ideas.”
And you’d be right. Let me tell you about the “Great Shelf Debacle of ’22.” I decided I was going to build this massive, custom shelving unit for our living room. You know, floor-to-ceiling, loads of books, the whole intellectual vibe. I watched a couple of YouTube tutorials – those guys make it look so easy, don’t they? “Pfft, I can do that,” I thought. Famous last words.
So, I went out, bought a pile of lumber – probably spent more than if I’d just bought a pre-made one, if I’m honest. Got the screws, the fancy wood stain, the whole nine yards. I cleared out the garage, set up my “workshop.” For a week, I was out there, sawing (badly), drilling (crookedly), and staining (unevenly). The instructions I’d cobbled together from different videos started to look like ancient hieroglyphics. My wife would poke her head in, raise an eyebrow, and wisely retreat.
The grand unveiling? It was… something. It stood, mostly. But it had this weird lean to it, like it was perpetually surprised. And if you put more than three paperbacks on one shelf, it started to wobble ominously. My wife, bless her heart, just said, “It’s… got character.” Which is code for “it’s a piece of junk, but I love you anyway.” We ended up quietly disassembling it a few months later when we thought no one was looking and took the wood to the dump. The whole experience cost me time, money, and a significant chunk of my DIY ego.
So, back to the balcony pool. After the shelf disaster, my appetite for ambitious home projects that could end in structural failure or domestic arguments was pretty low. The pool idea got mentally filed under “Fun to think about, terrible to actually do.”
What did I do instead? I got a really decent inflatable foot spa. Yeah, I know, not quite the same. But hey, I can fill it from the tap, empty it easily, and there’s zero chance of it ending up in my neighbor’s living room. Plus, my feet have never been happier. Sometimes, you just gotta pick your battles, and a battle against gravity and building codes on a tiny balcony? Not one I was gonna win.
